Henrietta's Basement
by Predominantly Normal
Summary: After being ditched by his 'friends', Tweek finds solace in getting high in Henrietta's basement. Henrietta/Tweek ONESHOT


**I DO NOT OWN SOUTH PARK**

**Wow it's heterosexual call the gay police. But in all seriousness- I felt like writing this up because I wanted to write something that I usually don't do well, and writing from Tweek's first person point of view was one of them. I won't lie, it helped that he was stoned.**

* * *

Sitting in a goth girl's basement and getting high off my ass was not on the agenda. I was supposed to hang out with Craig and company -maybe head up to the mall and window shop until Token bought us lunch- but they lied about having some occasion to attend and ditched me. So I retaliated by hanging out with the one person Craig despises more than Stan Marsh.

And that person would be Henrietta Biggle.

Craig used to be her friend in the sixth grade until she kicked him out of their little goth troop. But fuck Craig. I'm supposed to be mad at that cocksucker.

I adjusted myself so that I could lean against the wall, toes curling in the clean shag rug. I was blazed, senses numbed, and bobbing my head lazily to the psychedelic rhythm of the Beatle's music blasting through Henrietta's stereo. The room reeked of weed, the intoxicating smoke thick in the air.

Henrietta was curled up right next to me, running her fake fingernails up and down my arm and leaving goosebumps in their wake. She's had the weirdest fucking crush on me since forever, and while her affection would typically terrify me, I was far too stoned and pissed to care right now. Yeah, I was using her feelings towards me to get free weed. Fucking sue me.

"God, I'm so fucked up right now," I mumbled, slurring my words slightly. Henrietta only nodded in agreement and grunted in response. The two most difficult things in the world was being able to get her to start talking, and getting her to shut up when she was on a tangent.

"You need to shut up," Henrietta growled, passing me the joint. I inhaled hard and blew smoke rings that curled and stretched in the air before vanishing. I tossed the blunt back to her before sneering again.

"Fuck Craig," I snarled, "fuck everybody!" Craig called my phone a total of six times since I landed myself in Henrietta's lap, and I eventually just turned it on silent. "I hope he worries," I hissed, spitting my venom and clenching my fists. "I hope he comes rushing into my room expecting to see me dangling from my ceiling fan. You know what? Maybe I will hang myself!"

"Tweek, you're the most pathetic and miserable man I know," Henrietta spat back at me, gripping my arm hard enough to make me yell in shock. "You're spiteful, and selfish, and fucking impossible to be around, because you hoard attention like some deprived freak."

I winced. Each venomous word cut to the bone and made me feel worse and worse. Panicking, I shot back, "I get why you don't have friends, you little emo shit!"

She growled and got up on her knees, grasping my hair and slamming my head back against the wall. I whimpered and coughed loudly. I was suffocating- choking for air in this prison of smoke and self pity that I had built. It was a self-destructive game of chess that I was playing against myself.

"You'd fucking know about friends. Yours hate you," she sneered back, eyes half lidded in a drunk stupor. "So go ahead. Fucking kill yourself. See if anyone but God gives two shits. I promise you, Tweek, absolutely nobody will miss you."

I was trapped, my king piece surrounded in an open square on the chessboard. I could prolong my suffering and ultimate defeat with vain and fruitless fighting, or I could accept it and forfeit.

I broke the deafening roar of silence pounding in my ears. Slowly, I opened my intoxicated mouth and whispered, "I know."

I let myself break down, releasing warm teardrops that raced down my cheeks and splashed against the floor. I wiped my eyes furiously with my sleeve and let the snot run down my upper lip. "I'm sorry," I choked out, my voice breaking.

Henrietta's expression softened. She walked away silently and returned with some Kleenex and ginger ale. I thanked her and accepted the tissues, blowing my nose.

"How blazed are you?" She asked, helping me fumble with the plastic cup of ginger ale.

"I can't tell if this is ginger ale or dog piss," I whined in response, twitching.

Henrietta let out a real, genuine laugh, chuckling and putting out the blunt on the velvet armrest of her couch. "No more of that shit for you," she chuckled.

"What the hell is that? Why is it so strong?" I muttered, slowly sipping the ginger ale.

"It's some Columbian shit Michael got me for my birthday," Henrietta answered.

"Fuck Columbia!" I roared, my slur making it sound more like 'faclumba!'.

"Fuck Columbia," she added honestly, not sounding near as stoned as I was.

We sat in silence for a long time, trying to climb down from our highs. Henrietta found herself right next to me, resting her head on my shoulder. I let myself ween off the delicious smoke, reducing my intake to what was already filling the air. The cup of ginger ale was almost empty.

My phone buzzed again. I took a wary glance down, seeing Clyde's luminescent face shining on the screen. I scowled. Clyde could go hang out with HIS best friend, Craig. Henrietta turned my phone over, and declined the call. In my haze, she actually looked kind of pretty.

"Tweek?" she whispered, her deep gravely voice vibrating through my chest. "About what I said.." I glanced up hopefully. "It's all completely true."

"Thanks," I deadpanned.

"But that doesn't mean I don't have conformist feelings for you, because I do," she added, draping her arm across my shoulders and cupping my face in her hands.

My stupid mind was trying to figure out why the air in the room had shifted ever so slightly. She turned my cheek so that we met eyes. Stormy gray eyes scanned my face, dipping down and returning to meet mine again.

Finally understanding the weight of the situation, I felt my breath hitch, and a pit form in my stomach. I chewed the inside of my cheek, eyes darting around the room frantically.

"I hate you, okay?" she snapped, a conflicted look about her. She paused before choosing her next words. "You make me feel things that I hate feeling, and you make me want to feel them more. And I hate you for that. Fuck you, Tweek Tweak."

Then she kissed me.

My eyelids slipped shut on their own, and I gently wrapped my fingers around her wrist. I suppose I felt obligated. Henrietta's fingers toyed with my hair, curling a few blond locks around her finger and tugging gently. She pulled back, and I cautiously opened my eyes.

"Fuck," she whispered, revealing a vulnerable side to her with the shakiness in her voice. "I think I love you."

She then reeled back, eyes still locked on mine. "I fucking love you- god dammit! It's the fucking weed," she hissed, banging the back of her head on the wall.

"It's the weed making you love me?" I asked stupidly, jerking my head to the side.

"No, dumb fuck, it's the weed making me tell you," she sneered, lurching forward and smashing our lips together in a sloppy embrace.

God, she was so fucking warm. Feverish, almost. I sunk into her and kissed back with equal fervor. Henrietta trailed her long catlike nails down my back, making me arch it and whimper. She licked my lower lip expectantly, and I obliged, opening my mouth to let her tongue inside. My cheeks were crimson red, and my toes curled. The air around us felt warm and comforting. I decided that this was the peak of my high.

Henrietta kissed me hard and roughly palmed my crotch, sobering me up instantly. Realization of what I was doing crashed into me like a ten-ton freight train. I panicked, my eyes shooting open. I wasn't ready for sex. I wasn't ready for her. She was so over my head. I wasn't capable of taking care of her. Her attitude, her neediness- there was someone out there that would gladly deal with that, but I was not that man.

"Fuck, Henrietta, I'm sorry," I whined, gently pushing her off of my lap. She scowled, searching my expression. She said nothing.

My phone vibrated, and I glanced down. Henrietta didn't say a word, only glaring at me expectantly. I felt like I was choosing between that phone and her. I made a nervous noise and slowly picked up my phone. Craig. Fuck. He was probably pissed, oh god.

I answered it, biting my lip. "H-hello?" I stammered out.

"Fuck Tweek! Finally you answer me. I've been worried sick, you know that? Your mom said you weren't home, and you weren't answering my goddamn calls- I looked all over for you, asshole! What is wrong with you?!" Craig roared from the other end.

"Shit, Craig!" I yelled back. "You ditched me, and now you're worried?"

"Ditched you?! Are you seriously mad about that?" Craig asked, exasperated.

"Yes!" I screamed back. "I am mad about that! I thought we were friends, okay? Friends don't ditch friends."

"Tweek, please-"

"Don't talk to me. Don't call me. Fuck you, man. Seriously," I snarled.

There was a pause. Henrietta glanced up at me, her expression unreadable.

"Tweek, are you high?" Craig asked, concern etching his voice.

"Shit, yes. What do you fucking care?"

"Where are you, man? I'm picking you up," he muttered, sounding guilty.

"I'm not telling you," I snapped back.

There was a smacking noise, and I felt a sting of pain on my cheek and dropped my phone in shock. It would've crashed to the ground, but instead it landed on Henrietta's soft hand. She picked it up and held it up to her ear.

"Henrietta speaking. Yeah, he's at my house... He's really fucked up right now, he doesn't know what he's saying... No, I didn't force him... No! I would never... Fuck you... Yeah, whatever, asshole. Be here in ten or I'm kicking him out." With that, she ended the call and threw me my boots.

I fumbled with putting them on, only for Henrietta to help me, fitting them on my feet and lacing them up. She grabbed a cloth off the treadmill in the corner of the room and wiped my face.

"I can fucking do it," I garbled, trying to snatch the cloth away from her. If I was going to be cleaned up with a sweat-drenched rag, I was going to do it myself. Unfortunately, my reaction speed was too slow, and she effortlessly pulled it away and began dabbing my face.

"Henrietta, I'm sorry-"

"Don't talk. Nothing happened. You came here, you got high, and that's it," Henrietta murmured, turning her cheek to wipe her eye.

The buzz of my phone interrupted the silence, and Henrietta picked it up without answering it. "Looks like the bastard is here. You better get going."

"Okay," I whispered, using the wall as a crutch to stand. "Okay."

I stumbled out of Henrietta's basement, toppling out the glass front door and sprawling across the driveway. Snow went up my nose, and made me sneeze. Despite the cold, and the melting snow seeping into my clothes, I decided to lay there until I died of hypothermia. Unfortunately for my plans, Craig hopped out of his car and helped me up, leading me to the passenger seat.

"Look, Tweek. I'm sorry," Craig whispered, buckling me in.

"What's wrong with me?" I whimpered. "My friends hate me, I'm so blazed I can't even fucking put on my seatbelt, and I just passed up the chance to have sex with a beautiful real-life girl. Fuck, am I gay?"

"Oh man, Tweek. Look, we didn't mean to ditch you. We just wanted some time away from your twitching and screaming, okay? But we found out that it sucks without you, and we left the mall early. We were going to pick you up to get coffee, man, but you weren't home. I'm sorry."

"Eat shit, Craig," I shot back at him. "I'm having a personal crisis about my sexuality, and all you can think about is getting forgiveness. Asshole."

I stared down at my crotch, glaring at the denim of my jeans. "What the fuck is up with you?" I asked angrily.

"Dude, please stop talking to your dick. It's creepy," Craig laughed awkwardly, punching me in the arm and pulling out of Henrietta's driveway. I rolled my eyes and looked out the window.

As I looked at the frosted glass door to Henrietta's home, I could see a dark shape standing there watching us depart. And I could almost hear it curse under its breath:

"Fuck you, Tweek Tweak. Fuck you."


End file.
